In The Interest of Brilliance
by EnoKureno
Summary: Vincent interests Hodgins, which interests Booth, who is interested in Wendell who has no idea of this and spends his time fantasizing over Booth. Meanwhile, Hodgins attempts to impress Vincent and almost burns down his kitchen. What happened to genius?
1. Paranoia Plus Brilliance

**In The Interest of Brilliance**

A **Bones** Fanfic

**Rating**: M for language and references

**Pairings**: Hodgins/Nigel-Murray, Jack/Vincent, etc, Booth/Nigel-Murray, Seeley/Vincent, etc.

**Warnings**: Slash, Language, Sexual References (I always gotta include plenty of those), Random Trivia, and some British slang

**Spoilers**: Through Season Four

**Author's Note: **Just an idea I had kicking around my brain, this takes place around the end of Science in the Physicists after Jack wakes up. Tell me if it's any good.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. I do not own Bones itself, I only own my idea and random ramblings. I do not make a profit off of this and do this solely for the pleasure I feel when I write a story.

* * *

**In The Interest of Brilliance**

Vincent slid onto the chair next to Agent Booth just in time to receive a complement from Dr. Brennan. Complement, from the Latin word complementum or "that which fills up or completes." He accepted it cheerily, although he made sure to keep a low profile afterwards. Agent Booth scared him. He was half-expecting to be shoved off the stool upon which he sat and replaced. By who? By some other graduate student who was preferred by Dr. Brennan. She insisted on calling him Mr. Nigel-Murray, and rubbing his nose in the fact that he didn't have a doctorate yet. Most of the time it made him want to break his cool, British exterior and scream his lungs out because of the lack of respect he received for doing most of the dirty work.

Who was it who had to remove the shredded chili con carne remains from the rubbish bags? Who discovered the stab wounds from the mechanical pencil?

He may not be a brilliant yet misguided psychologist. He certainly wasn't an artist slash computer genius or a chiseled, snarky entomologist. He wasn't even that interesting in general. Yes, he knew random trivia that no one else remembered or even gave a shit about, but at the end of the day, he went home to his flat to spend another sleepless night trying not to think about the horrors of humanity he had seen throughout the day.

Drowned, rotting transvestites.

Frozen, shattered remains of a physicist left out for crows to devour.

Acid-soaked, foaming remains of a man who only meant to be truthful with his brother.

There were more, god, were there more, and they were slowly consuming him. He spent all of his time working with the scraps left after the scum of the human race was done tearing their selfish creed into the fabric of existence. No wonder Zach Addy went crazy, no one pays attention to you when you're just a lab assistant. Hodgins and Angela were too caught up in the dying embers of their once fiery relationship to care about anyone but themselves. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were skirting the issue of her father and pretending that their lives were fine, and Dr. Saroyan just couldn't be fucked to care.

Porcupines can float. Did you know that?

Facts, trivia, knowledge, insanity, depression, masked, cloaked, unprotected, lonesome, there were so many words to describe Vincent's existence. He could tell you the urban population of Swaziland (twenty-four percent), or that potassium was discovered in 1807 by Sir Humphry Davy of England (another point to the UK), but did it really matter?

He lay in his tiny bed that night, having left the late night dinner with the other labrats plus Booth because it was too awkward. They were all worried about Hodgins and never really paid attention to him unless he did something wrong, or something stupidly correct.

He shivered, feeling the cold breeze from an open window chill his toes from where they peeked out from under his thin, but affordable blanket. Sitting up suddenly, he grabbed the bat from it's resting place next to his nightstand. He hadn't left a window open. Vincent's brain seemed to freeze and he struggled to focus on some obscure, interesting fact only he gave a flying fuck about.

"The Louisville Slugger was invented in 1884 by a seventeen year old carpenter named John Hillerich." He whispered to himself, feeling his brain start to work again, "Brains, hmm, brains, the average weight of a human brain is 1,400 grams."

He shut up instantly as he saw a dark shadow flickered on the opposite wall. Shit. Shit. Bloody hell. The figure kept moving, slowly and rounded the corner to met with a rather pathetic, yet definitely painful swing of Vincent's bat. Bam, motherfucker.

"Don't move!" He held the bat to the intruder's throat and hit the light switch. Oh shit. "Hodgins?!" He was answered by a pained groan from the curly-haired man on his floor. Vincent dropped to his knees and observed the damage or lack thereof his swing had caused. It wasn't as bad as he had expected, wow, he should probably hit the gym more... not that he had time with his dissertation due in the upcoming months.

Hodgins groaned again and brought him back to Earth. The entomologist's nose was bleeding slightly, and he would have a nasty headache for a while, but there would not be any permanent damage. Thank god. He slid an arm awkwardly under his shoulders and lifted, oh, he'd be feeling that in the morning. Vincent brought the older man to his scruffy little couch complete with a patched and frayed comforter. He never claimed to be a man of wealth, even though girls often told him his accent made him sound distinguished. Not that sounding intelligent gained him many friends over the years... or any friends, for that matter. And girls, well, it was a moot point, he would never tell anyone, but he tended to prefer Booth over Dr. Brennan, if you can catch his drift.

"Bloody hell, Hodgins, what are you doing here at," he glanced at his watch, "2 am?!"

The elder scientist grimaced and slurred, "Pops... desert... tattoo...couldn't think... so tired..." he yawned and seemed to drift away from his current pain, an average yawn lasts six seconds, and Vincent had to remember to shake him awake because of a slightly possible concussion.

"How did you know where I lived?" He asked, curious and slightly nervous.

"Paranoia plus brilliance equals the phone book."

"I see."

"Do you? Or does your retina perceive photons and respond with neural impulses? Really, I'd think you'd know that Mr. High-and-Mighty-Brit."

Vincent winced at the harsh tone of his part-time colleague. "Well, I did, but still--"

"But still, what?" Hodgins cut him off. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"I needed to see you, Mister Nigel-Murray." The entomologist sing-songed the end of his sentence, "I wanted to tell you something."

"For God's sake, hold it down, mate, you're off your face." running his hand through his hair, anxiously, Vincent tried to calm the man down. He could smell alcohol on his breath and really didn't need to know more about this. The truth will set you free and from the mouth of babes and such, but still, he didn't want this. "Did you know the word coccyx, or the tailbone, means cuckoo in Greek?"

After an awkward silence full of blank stares, Hodgins started to laugh. "Coccyx. That's almost what I was going to talk about."

"Really?" Utterly bewildered, he racked his brain with the full force of his genius IQ and could draw no answers, screw letting drunken information slide, this was too puzzling to let go, "How so?"

"I was gonna say, I find you very, very interesting, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"Interesting?"

"Yup, and kind of sexy."

This bloke was off his rocker.

* * *

**Word Count: 1,157**


	2. Juice Boxes and Ancient French Toast

**In The Interest of Brilliance**

A **Bones **Fanfic

**Rating**: M for language and references

**Pairings**: Hodgins/Nigel-Murray, Jack/Vincent, etc, Booth/Nigel-Murray, Seeley/Vincent, etc.

**Warnings**: Slash, Language, Sexual References (I always gotta include plenty of those), Random Trivia, and some British slang

**Spoilers**: Through Season Four

**Author's Note**: Well, two reviewers asked for more, so I think I'll make a short story or something, if people review.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. I do not own Bones itself, I only own my idea and random ramblings. I do not make a profit off of this and do this solely for the pleasure I feel when I write a story.

* * *

**_In The Interest Of Brilliance_**

"I was gonna say, I find you very, very interesting, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"Interesting?"

"Yup, and kind of sexy."

Vincent paused, unable to formulate a response. The bloke was a bloody loon. Barking mad. Barnacles have penises forty times the length of their bodies. Shit. Could he have picked a worse time to think about cocks? Damn it. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Hodgins giggled, and slurred, "Betcha didn't see that comin', eh?" He laughed again, "Uh-oh, my mistake, you're not Canadian."

"Thank goodness, no." Not that he had anything against the Canadians, he simply preferred his beloved England. "But seriously, why are you here, Dr. Hodgins?"

"Doctor...Hodgins... I think I like that..." the older scientist contemplated sluggishly.

Shivering, Vincent stood up to fetch his robe, "Pardon me, just a moment, it's freezing in here." Suddenly remembering his manners, he added, "Is.. there anything I can fetch you?" He put the sexy comment aside, Hodgins was known for his playful taunting.

"Cold? Well come over here, I'll warm you up." Maybe there was something more to this than he thought, shit, just what he needed, a drunk coworker needing someone to "let off steam" with because his personal life was majorly fucked up. And who better to pick than the wimpy little Brit who just wants to fit in? With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Vincent laughed nervously,

"Haha, very amusing, but really, can I fetch you something or are you going to sit and spout rubbish all bloody night long?" He grabbed his robe from the hook near the bathroom door, and, slightly self-consciously, pulled it on over his striped pajamas. He hid a yawn behind the back of his hand. So tired, and did you know ants cannot sleep? When he turned back to the couch, he didn't expect to see Hodgins slumped over and snoring lightly. Vincent smiled, fetched the blanket, and laid it gently over the snoozing entomologist. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and went to sleep, curled up to make himself as small as possible under the feeble warmth of the towel.

The next morning, he awoke, chilled and stiff. He stretched out, trying to regain feeling in his limbs and figure out why the fuck he was sleeping with a towel. Hodgins. Shit. Sitting up quickly, he crept to the door and saw an empty couch. Puzzled, he went and examined the scene, and saw no evidence of someone having slept there. A clattering in the kitchen made him spin round, and he saw him, attempting to flip a piece of french toast. The noise had been a slice flying across the room and hitting the wall.

"Shit."

Vincent laughed, "Apicius wrote the first french toast recipe early in the 4th century."

"Well, sorry for trying to cook breakfast while fucking hungover. Even if some ancient Roman guy wrote me a recipe, I'm still destined to fail." Hodgins sighed, dejectedly.

"Destiny is as relative as time."

"Only if you're Einstein."

"Touche." Vincent's lips quirked into a smile.

"Can we just order a pizza?" Hodgins dropped the pan in the sink with a bang, and turned to Vincent, smirking, "My treat."

How was he supposed to resist that? After living off apple juice boxes and tortilla chips and oriental ramen, the dirt poor graduate student nodded, "On one condition,"

"Anything,"

"We'll go dutch, let me pay half."

"I'd rather be the chivalrous one and foot the bill."

"Well, Sir Knight, I'm afraid I have to decline, it wouldn't be polite." His stomach growled angrily, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

Sighing and brushing curls from his forehead, Hodgins replied, "Fine, two thirds, no less,"

Vincent contemplated this and concluded, "Deal." He pulled down the phone from its cradle, slightly embarrassed because it was extremely low-tech. It had a cord, for crying out loud. "What kind do you want?"

"Anything's fine by me."

"Pepperoni? Vegetarian? Cheese lover's?"

"Vincent." Hodgins looked him right in the eye, it was lucky they were the same height, although the older man was definitely more built than himself, "What would you get?"

A weird feeling erupted in his stomach again, a fluttering, and he tried to think of a reason for it. Was he excreting adrenaline? Why? "Uh, uhm, I usually get the vegetarian with no mushrooms."

"That sounds perfect."

He ordered the pizza, trying to ignore the odd sensation in his abdomen. Maybe the food last night disagreed with him, thank goodness he had the weekend to sleep it off. He hoped he wasn't coming down with something, Hodgins would probably kill him if he made him sick. The only thing he could do then would be to pull a Typhoid Mary **(1)** and make a break for it.

"So, what do you want to do while we wait?"

"Honestly? You."

* * *

**_(1)_ Typhoid Mary** - A woman named Mary Mallon was found to have been the cause of several typhoid outbreaks in New Jersey, and when told she would have to quit her job as a chef and have surgery to remove the infected gallbladder that contained all the bacteria, she ran, changed her name, got another cooking gig, infected more people, and caused more death, etc, etc. She was caught and imprisoned. Google her if you want, it's a fascinating case.

Love you all :3


	3. Pain, Passion, and Anthropology

_**In The Interest of Brilliance**_

A **Bones** Fanfic

**Rating**: M for language and references  
**  
Pairings**: Hodgins/Nigel-Murray, Jack/Vincent, etc, Booth/Nigel-Murray, Seeley/Vincent, etc.

**Warnings**: Slash, Language, Sexual References (I always gotta include plenty of those), Random Trivia, and some British slang

**Spoilers**: Through Season Four

**Author's Note**:_ Happy Birthday, **Erin**_**! **I hope you had fun and got some kickass presents. **_Happy Tofurkey Day_** to my Americans, and **_Happy Thursday_** to all my Internationals.

Did anyone see** Adam Lambert** at the **AMAs**? Wasn't that sexified? My god, I've watched it a million times. And **Glee**, Hairography was epic. I couldn't stop laughing when those wigs moved in slow mo. Review if you think Kurt and Finn are meant to be.

* * *

**Disclaime**r: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. I do not own Bones itself, I only own my idea and random ramblings. I do not make a profit off of this and do this solely for the pleasure I feel when I write a story.

* * *

_**In The Interest of Brilliance**_

As Jack was focused on wooing the innocent and naive Vincent, a much messier affair was taking place elsewhere. Hot and sweaty, eyes focusing on each other, Seeley Booth was playing basketball one on one with Wendell Bray. Twisting, turning, soaked wife beaters clinging to his skin, Wendell stole the ball with a complicated snatch and, keeping his weight low, ducked beneath the older man's arm and performed a perfect layup.

"21-18, I win." The normally stoic squint couldn't keep the excited grin off his face. It was the first time he'd ever beaten the agent at any sport. Hockey (he always seemed to end up flat on his ass), soccer (last time he broke a toe), baseball (there was an incident with a flyball the face), and ping-pong (you don't want to know), whatever it was, Booth kicked his ass.

"Good game, kid." And there went the happy expression. Wendell set in his face in it's emotionless state once more, he hated being treated like an inferior. He wasn't 'boy', like his father had called him. He was Wendell Bray, future anthropologist, with a chance at success his drunken, deadbeat father never had. Maybe that was his connection with Booth, both had serious disappointments paternally.

"Yeah, right, I think I'm just gonna head home and clean up." With an half-shrug, he started walking away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him and turned him around. Seeley pulled him into a hug, strong arms conforming to the angular planes of his body. What was this? He looked up with the question in his eyes, only to be met with a warm, chapped pair of lips. Oh. Wendell wrapped his arms around his muscular form and kissed back. They stood in the light of the dying beams of the sun, joined quietly at the lips. Pulling away to take a breath, he looked into the warm brown eyes of the older man and said, "Seel-"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Groaning, Wendell rolled out of bed, still sweaty from playing basketball earlier. He had gone home, and hadn't felt up to taking a shower. Just collapsing in bed, he stared at the ceiling until sleep took him away to the realm of endless possibilities. This crush, or rush of pheromones as Dr. Brennan would say, was going too far. He woke up at odd intervals throughout the night, unable to concentrate on anything but Seeley Booth. And he still hadn't won a game against him.

He walked to the kitchen of his dingy apartment, seeing a note from his roommates pinned to fridge. They would be in South Dakota for the holidays and he would have the place to himself. Hurray, just what he needed. Opening the refridgerator, Wendell grabbed a take out carton of pad thai, inhaling the spicy sweet scent greedily. That was another great thing about his roommates, when they left, their food was fair game. Following his morning routine, he scarfed down his breakfast voraciously, and took a scorching hot shower. He check the calendar and choked. Today was the day. The day of pain, passion and anthropology.

Dr. Brennan was only able to narrow down her graduate students to Clark Edison, Vincent Nigel-Murray, and himself. She had enjoyed their range of knowledge, but it was becoming a hassle to her to have multiple people on multiple cases. She decided to pick one, but couldn't decide on who. So, today was the day all of them were to report to the lab and compete for the spot. Great. Wonderful. Fucking perfect. And Booth was going to be there, what if he did something stupid?

Wendell dressed in a nice, light blue shirt that complemented his eyes and black, dress slacks. Grabbing his keys, he left and headed for the bus stop. The bus arrived and took him to the Jeffersonian to await his fate. He yawned, slumping in his seat and leaning awkwardly against the window. It was about 5:30 AM because he wanted to get there early and show diligence and such.

He almost missed his stop and hurried out the doors and up the stairs to the vestibule. Shit. He was a little too early. No one else was there yet. He sat down on the steps and pulled out his walkman. Yeah, he was old school, don't hate on it. It wasn't like he could afford anything better, anyways. He pressed play and closed his eyes, relaxing to the sound of Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. Always a great song to chill out with. It just made his body mellow out and the stress of the soon-to-come competition left his mind for a while.

Wendell zoned out, lost in the gentle melody until a sudden tapping on his shoulder disturbed him. Looking up, he jumped away and rolled down a few stairs in his haste. Agent Booth stood over him, looking fresh and awake, lucky guy, he was a morning person. And ouch, those stairs left a mark.

"Hey, buddy." He took the extended hand and was pulled to his feet, painfully. "Am I really that scary?"

"Uh, no, I just... was a little preoccupied...." He looked down and instantly regretted it as his eyes went straight to the Cocky belt buckle. Shit, looking at his crotch. Stop it. Now.

"I guess..." And to Wendell's horror, the older man started laughing, "You should have seen your face."

He couldn't stop the glare that came to his eyes. It hadn't been funny to him. Then, he realised who he was glaring at.

"Wow, Wendell Bray can get mad, huh?" Yeah, very easily, Booth.

"Stop it, please." Wow, that was definitely standing up for himself, he sounded like a kindergartener.

"Don't worry," The agent smiled and moved closer. "It was kind of cute." A hand caressed his cheek, and he leaned into it instinctively.

"Hey, buddy, oi, wake up." A foot nudged his side and Wendell opened his eyes once again. This time it was a pudgy security guard standing over him. Shit. He was having another dream, and this time he was in public. His cheeks flushed a little and he scrambled to his feet, completely embarrassed. He followed the guard, and after showing his ID, took the elevator to the lab. Sitting down quietly, he looked around, not used to the lab being so dark. It was the creepiest he'd ever seen the place, and that was saying something.

A voice cut through the darkness, "Hey Wendell, you're up early." And to his disbelief, Booth left Dr. Brennan's office, and walked towards him. He must have spent the night there again. He knew the older man had had some financial troubles, but not that he needed to live at the lab.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Same here, I swear, that couch gets harder everyday." That's what she said. The blush returned to his cheeks as he thought it.

"Well, my roommates are gone for a month, do you need a place to stay?" He couldn't help but offer, it was depressing to think the beautiful man spent hours on a couch like Dr. Brennan's.

"Only if I'm not intruding on you and your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend."

"Angela? Don't you two have a little something going on? I saw you guys in the diner, you looked pretty cosy."

"No, she's not my girlfriend, it's more of a, well, um, a friends with benefits dealy."

"I see." Was it just wishful thinking, or did Booth look a little put out? "Hey, wanna play a game?"

"What kind of game?"

"The mot fun kind of game. Truth or Dare."


	4. Squeaky Squints and Red, Plastic Slides

**_In The Interest of Brilliance_**

A **Bones** Fanfic

**Rating**: M for language and references  
**  
Pairings**: Hodgins/Nigel-Murray, Jack/Vincent, etc, Booth/Nigel-Murray, Seeley/Vincent, etc.

**Warnings**: Slash, Language, Sexual References (I always gotta include plenty of those), Random Trivia, and some British slang

**Spoilers**: Through Season Four

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry for the wait, I've just had a million field trips and meetings and work and more to do. Plus, I have even more now, they just asked me to direct the school play. Joy, oh joy.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters mentioned. I do not own Bones itself, I only own my idea and random ramblings. I do not make a profit off of this and do this solely for the pleasure I feel when I write a story. I also do not own Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond**.**

* * *

_**In The Interest of Brilliance**_

Wendell gulped, shifting his weight nervously, "Truth or dare?" He was god awful at it, he just didn't have the heart to ask personal questions or make somebody do something stupid.

"Yeah, why not?" The carefree agent wrapped a casual arm around the flushing squint's shoulders and led him back to Bone's office. "We've got more than an hour until everyone else gets here." He couldn't bring himself to answer him, he was too focused on the warm arm around him. They sat down facing each other on the rather uncomfortable couches.

Booth smiled, "You can go first."

"Truth or dare?"

"Well, how about truth to start with."

Wendell paused, "Uhm, what is your... favorite color?" Lame attempt, but he didn't want to pry.

"A light blue, you know, the color of the sky in the morning before the sun rises? Truth or dare." Interesting, he would have to remember that.

"Truth?" he said, uncertainly.

"What's your favorite childhood memory?" Well, there was that one time Justin Crinke kissed him under the red, plastic slide, but he couldn't really say that.

"There was this weekend, a long time ago, my father was happy about something," Wendell strained to remember, biting his lip, "I'm not sure what, but anyways, he decided to go fishing, and he took me with him. We were out in the middle of Lake Jorge and he stood up and was dancing and fell in." Grinning as he recalled it, he continued, "That was the first and last time my father ever just 'hung out' with me, so it's my favorite."

"I see..."

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare me." A smirk appeared on Booth's face, that bastard, he knew Wendell was bad at dares. Looking the older man over, and surveying the room for ideas, he thought of one.

"I dare you to sing something." He had heard Booth sang at funeral and had been curious about his voice ever since. "It doesn't matter what."

"Alright, I suppose..." Booth stuck his tongue out, poking the tip out from his lips as he concentrated. A clear, crisp baritone voice filled the room,

"_Where it began, I can't begin to know when,  
But then I know it's growing strong.  
Oh, wasn't the spring,  
And spring became the summer.  
Who'd believe you'd come along_

_Hands, touching hands, reaching out  
Touching me, touching you.  
Oh, sweet Caroline,  
Good times never seem so good.  
I've been inclined to believe it never would_."

He stopped, "Is that enough?" Breathless, the squint nodded, stunned. Booth was not going to be the next American Idol, but he was definitely above average. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare." Straightening in his chair, he awaited his sentence.

"I dare you to... wear your clothes inside out for the rest of the day... C'mon, you can change now, don't worry, it's just us." That was exactly what Wendell was worried about.

"Here?"

"Yeah, we're both guys, it doesn't matter." Ah, shit. The blonde man stood up, and turned around, imaging he could feel the agent's eyes burning on the back of his head. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and flipped it inside out. That wasn't too bad, he had a tank top underneath, so the only thing Booth got was a peek at the gun show. Now for the hard part, his nimble fingers unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He stepped out of them carefully, painfully aware of his crush behind him. He bent over to grab the pants and turned them inside out as well. Stepping into them awkwardly, he pulled them up and attempted to secure the zipper from the inside. It didn't go so well.

"It's stuck.." He ground out between clenched teeth, tugging at it.

Booth laughed, "Need some help?"

"No thanks..." Wendell flushed, and tugged once more. "Yes!" He finished the top button and turned back to the agent. "There."

"Shame, I was kind of hoping you needed a little help..."

The squint squeaked (try saying that five times fast) "What?!"

"You're gonna catch some flies if your jaw drops any lower..." Booth moved closer, and placed a finger under his chin, closing his open mouth. "Much better." He traced his fingertip along Wendell's jawline, smirking as it made him shiver. "Now..." He stepped closer still, and gently cupped the squint's face, bringing it closer to his own. Wendell blinked slowly and met Booth's lips with his, before pulling away softly. The taller agent smirked again and pulled him back, pushing more forcefully and deepening the kiss.

They broke apart for air and Wendell gasped, "Pinch me, I'm dreaming." He jumped as Booth's hands found his hips, pinching him playfully.

"Well, well, well, boys." A coy voice made the squint jump away. "What do we have here?"


End file.
